


stoneface

by oilywaters



Series: blur orgy shenanigans [2]
Category: Blur (Band)
Genre: Again, Caretaking, Dubious Consent, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Implied orgy, M/M, Nothing explicit happens though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29457720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oilywaters/pseuds/oilywaters
Summary: orgies and heroin. not as sexy as it sounds
Relationships: Damon Albarn/Graham Coxon
Series: blur orgy shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163684
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	stoneface

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd installement in the blur orgy saga i guess

Graham’s head is swimming, dazed and dull in a swarm of strange bodies that pour onto each other. Boy. Girl. Boy/girl. Neither, who the fuck cares. His scowl opens the crowd like the red sea, except for the stray groupie he indulges and fondles for a while before leaving her hopeless, confused, stranded.

What is he looking for? Will a celestial fuck cure his apathy? Or maybe he is looking for the definite sign, he is becoming celibate. If this is promiscuity, then celibacy seems somewhat coherent. His neglected Pisces spirituality stirs at the thought of giving this all up, but he’s young and red-blooded and there’s girls of dubious age, topless, and he hates himself for wanting unspeakable things with them, wants them to beat him to a pulp for the thoughts he’s had about them, if not for the fact that he’d enjoy that way too much.

The corner of his vision spots blond hair and tan skin, and tunnel vision ensues. Damon, his Damon, his mate, hi bandmate, his partner, his soulmate. He’s drifting off under a haze of alcohol and… Graham knows what, but conjuring the word up even in his mind seems too obscene, and god knows he is uptight when he is not-quite-drunk-enough.  
Damon lays on a seatee, pliant and unaware as barely legal hands reach for his torso, face, hips. The zipper of his pants lowers to a dangerous half. Damon’s mouth hangs open, his eyes blissfully apathetic and Graham feels a heavy fog shove him toward the scene.

He mumbles one or two explanations about him not being well, and hey, leave him alone, and he shoves him and Damon’s way into the suite’s master bedroom.  
He lays his friend down in the king-sized bed and ponders. Maybe he had been wrong to pull Damon out of that dionysic scene, however, his anxiety yelled nothing but danger to him.

“Graham”, he hears a pleading, lost voice  
Damon grabs his hand and kisses it, a sign of tenderness hardly rare but that feels priceless in the moment, Then he lowers it to his half-unzipped pants, pleading, wanting.  
Graham freezes at the hardness in Damon’s pants, one he is not unfamiliar to, but brings his gaze back up to half-lidded, blue-almost-white eyes and slow, blissful breathing. He ogles the track marks in the arm that imprisons his wrist, although Damon swore he had only been snorting.  
He pulls his arm away, and zips Damon’s pants up. He responds to a whine with a kiss in the forehead and a glass of water at the night stand.

Damon is fast asleep by the time Graham locks the door on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> why do i only write when drunk?


End file.
